


All Will Be Well

by Kierkegarden



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, 17th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Paul Blart: Mall Cop (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: 1600s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bisexual Male Character, Blasphemy, Butchering of Polish History, Catholic Church -- freeform, Christian Lore - Freeform, Church History, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Fluff, Heresy, Humor, M/M, POV First Person, Paul Blart -- freeform, Period Typical Attitudes, Please don't read this if you get offended by either sacrilege or piety - it has both, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, Reformation, Religion, Romance, They said to write for yourself so I did, Time Travel, Trans Character, Trans Luke Skywalker, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/pseuds/Kierkegarden
Summary: Luclawice, Poland-Lithuania, 1605 -- Paul Blart (Paweł Blartski) is a Polish cheese maker and dairy merchant in the 17th century. He's both bisexual and an Antitrinitarian, which puts him at odds with a highly Catholic state. Typically, he has dealt with this by keeping a low profile and leading his Reformed Church under the very nose of the Jesuits who routinely intrude from nearby Krakow.Dromund Ixin, 5 ABY -- A year after the Battle of Endor and the formation of the New Republic, Luke Skywalker travels to a Sith Temple where he finds a holocron pulsating with the Dark Side. He makes the mistake of touching it, sending himself careening through time and space.This is the story, dear readers, of the Polish Reformation.(Formerly titled John 11:35.)





	1. Of Cheese & Good Faith

“Accept my teachings and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in spirit, and you will find rest for your lives. The burden that I ask you to accept is easy; the load I give you to carry is light.” — Matthew 11:29-30

 

“Paweł!” Adam, the baker, loudly exclaims as he walks into my shop. Adam is a tall man, lean with a long face and worn olive skin. I once heard a rumor circulate through our village that his great grandmother was a gypsy, or an Saracen -- and no one argued it. The inhabitants of Luclawice are suspicious of foreigners and when someone like Adam arrives all of a sudden, it tends to cause all kinds of a stir.

I wipe my brow before my sweat can drip into my cheesecloth and I pucker the top of my parcel, sealing it with a bit of string.

“Good afternoon, Adam,” I greet him, with some hesitance, reaching up to string the fragrant lump of farm cheese with the others on the line. I can see his eyes watching me.

“It is indeed.”

“What can I do for you?”

It’s midday and I’m tired. My arms ache from stirring and my face is flushed and warm from working over the heat. I already know what Adam wants. He wants the same thing every week and I have no choice but to give it to him.

“You remember our little arrangement, Paweł, yes?” he quirks a smile.

I sigh. “One block of farmer’s cheese and your mouth stays shut?”

“Why stop at one?” Adam’s tone is just short of malicious. He delights in my misfortune. “My wife will have our new child any day now. Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about the joys of childbirth, being a..." -- he pauses, the absence of words speaking volumes -- "...bachelor." I see him smile again, as if having a bit of a joke with himself.

I want to punch him but I simply breathe slowly, remembering that I am better than this.

He clears his throat. "Another mouth to feed means I need more cheese. Give it up, dear boy, I don't have all day.”

“Fine,” I pluck two blocks from the line and fold them into his hands, lowering my tone seriously, “but your mouth stays shut.”

“Fine.” Adam agrees and then smiles at me once more, in that mocking condescending way, “I always enjoy doing business with you, Paweł. Always.”

 

I should probably pause to explain why I dance this tired, weekly dance with Adam.

 

My name is Paweł Blartski. I have lived in Luclawice all of my life and have only ever left to go into Krakow. I know every wheat field from the next, know where to find creeks in clearings so obscure that you would hear the water babbling and still not know which dip and bend to follow. I have seen the Lord take many people from Luclawice in my time here, may their bodies rest eternally and may their souls rise to salvation. I have also seen the Lord bring many people in -- infants, travelers passing through, and the occasional traveler who is here to stay. One of these rare cases is the case of Faustus Socinus.

Faustus Socinus was an Italian refugee. He came to Krakow many years ago and quickly made a name for himself, preaching a strange gospel. Long before he arrived here in Luclawice, we knew of his reputation. We heard that he would stand in the streets clutching his belly and blaspheming the church. It was a wonder that they didn’t drive him out sooner, or so I thought before I met him.

Here in Luclawice, we don’t like Krakow. It is big and smelly and bustling and full of people. People like Socinus. Heretics.

I visited him once, there, in his humble but beautiful church. It was a deep grey-yellow stone, the masonry excellent, but architecture not as jaw-dropping as the conventional churches that I had seen. I remember the small group of followers he had acquired there, staring up at me as I entered. I was a young man then. I was intrigued by his heresy and, glowing with hubris, I may have thought that I could bring him back to the Faith. Regardless, I inquired of his beliefs.

Socinus explained that he was an Anti-Trinitarian. He believed that the Christ was fully human, not a vessel of the divine. It was absolute blasphemy and I knew that I should have not listened. But he had caught my ear that day and I was intrigued. Socinus told me that the soul dies with the body, but those given the gift of Grace will be resurrected. One must study the good word, Faustus said, and all would be revealed.

I could not yet read, so I did not yet listen.

I do not have any dream or aspiration, dear reader, beyond serving the Lord. You could say I am a pious man, and most in Luclawice would agree. The most striking thing about me is my stature -- tall and wide -- and my inability to walk in a straight line. I am so clumsy that the children point and call me drunkard, though I rarely indulge in more than an ale. I am Paweł Blartski, the unassuming cheese merchant. Luclawice sees no threat. That is because they don’t know my secret.

It began the fateful night that I allowed Faustus Socinus refuge in my home. I am a bachelor, you see, on account of the issues mentioned prior. Aside from being quite rotund and clumsy, I am terribly shy around girls. I am shyer yet around a good looking boy, but I did not dwell on those urges at the time.

Faustus, as it happened, was one of these men, so good looking that I became weak at the sight of his neatly trimmed moustache, thick beard and rich, dark eyes. When I allowed him into my home, however, I had no such intentions. He remembered me from our discussion so many years before and sought my aid, fleeing from the mob. I put him up.

I never could have predicted the night of fiery passion that would occur between us.

As my bad luck would have it, Adam the baker was passing by that day. I have since learned of dutchmen with paned glass windows on their homes but I, a simple cheese merchant, had no such luxuries. What occurred that night -- the noises, sounds, smells -- of lecherous lovemaking between the heretic and I -- Adam experienced it all. For his silence, in good faith, I have been giving him one free block of cheese per week. Now, I suppose, it will have to be two.

Faustus died two years ago.

Our king, King Sigismund III, began cracking down on heretics shortly before Faustus's death. The Jesuits come in regularly from Krakow, these days, to check and see if there is any funny business. They have always been happy to report back that Luclawice is just as it seems -- a sleepy little town.

But there is one more secret, dear reader, that even Adam doesn’t know. As I write this story, it should become clear to you. Consider yourself one among close -- but good -- company. Before Faustus died, he gave me a most beautiful gift: literacy. Through his writings, preserved through my writings, the Minor Reformed church stays alive. Although we meet in secret now, I have an incredibly important job here in Luclawice. For Faustus. For the Lord.

Until that fateful day, after Adam’s weekly visit to my shop, as the sun was just starting to set in the sky, it was all I knew. It was the most important job that I could possibly conceive of, but as always the Lord works in mysterious ways.

As I said before, travelers rarely make a home here in Luclawice, but when they do, it is always sure to be life-changing. That was how it was for me. That was how it was when the boy and the golden man fell, hand-in-hand, out of the sky.


	2. Strange Company

“For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in.” -- Matthew 25:35

 

I do not know what to do but to watch in awe as they fall. I must admit, dear reader, that my very first thought upon seeing the pair was that of mortal terror. At first I was sure that I was wrong in my faith, that the Lord himself had sent down horsemen of the apocalypse or dark angels to punish me for my heretical ways. 

Presently, however, as I collect my bearings, I doubt that the Lord would take the time of day. I feel myself growing faint as I jump back, the golden man slamming down into the fertile earth inches from my home. 

The boy lands more gracefully. He is a plucky lad, perhaps ten years my younger. He has sandy blond hair in a style not unlike those I’ve seen worn by the Luclawice villagers his age. My eyes cannot seem to look at him long enough to gather any further inspiration, as I am captivated by his companion.

The golden man stands a head taller than any man I have seen. He appears to be made of solid metal and is emitting a strange buzzing noise. I watch the boy reach out to him and help him out of the dirt, as they jabber back and forth in an alien tongue. I feel myself grow faint.

“Er, your majesties,” I offer, in the only tongue I know. I do not know how to address these strangers. My heart is beating so rapidly that I feel I might take off towards the heavens myself. If it is the endtimes, I suppose, it will not matter what I say.

I watch the golden man move his limbs in a lurch as if under a witch’s spell. He appears to be processing my words.

“That’s strange,” he says, “This human appears to be speaking a primitive form of Nelvaanese.”

“Human?” I ask, “Nelvaanese?” The word rolls off my tongue like smoke, foreign and frightening. I am not speaking anything but standard Polish. I run into my house and return a moment later with a carved wooden cross pendant. It is not the Catholic crucifix, but instead a simplified shape. I suppose it will have to do.

The golden man dusts himself off, tilting his head to observe me. He has no eye whites in his golden skull. I do not understand how he can see me, but this sort of magic is clearly beyond what I could ever understand. I must instead accept that I know nothing.

“Greetings,” he extends a stiff golden arm, and the boy to his side yammers on in that same alien tongue, “My name is C3PO, human-cyborg relations. And this here is Master Luke Skywalker. He recently liberated the galaxy!”

I instantly drop to my knees as he approaches me. I feel myself weakening, my heart rate quickening. I clutch the cross until my knuckles go white and numb. This has happened before, when I go a long while without eating, or when my body overheats in my cheese shop. My eyes open, then shut, then open again. When they shut once more, I am sure this while be the last thing I see before the Apocalypse.

 

I wake up in my own bed in a sweat. At first, I let out a raw chuckle. A dream, I think, I must have had a vision. I rush to my writing station to record the prophetic visit, but stop short as I pass the boy and the golden man, standing by my front window, staring at me.

“I see that you are awake again,” the golden man wastes no time in saying, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Paweł,” I say, breathlessly, although I imagine it is a bad idea to give your name to demons, “Paweł Blartski.”

“Very well then, Paweł,” C3PO says, matter-of-factly, “I  _ am _ curious however, just where in the galaxy we are?”

I stare at him, mouth agape and sink into my writing chair in defeat. 

“This is the village of Luclawice. If you’re looking for Krakow, it’s northwest of here.” The hard desk below my head reminds me that I am not dreaming. I wish I was. Instead, I am sitting in my own home, conversing with a demon.

“Krakow,” C3PO says in contemplation, “I am searching my memory drive for any prior knowledge of this place and its customs and I am drawing a blank. Tell me, Paweł, are we in Wild Space?”

“We are in Poland.” I suggest. I might as well try to be helpful, even if every other word out of this being’s mouth is gibberish. It doesn't help that he speaks with a dialect so strange that I might be misinterpreting what his meaning is.

C3PO turns to Luke once more to translate. The look on his handsome tan face must match my own in its complete confusion. The golden man turns back to me.

“Master Luke says that we are going to travel to this….Krakow....and from there, we can hopefully find our way back to Coruscant.”

The pair rises, and turns to leave, as flurries of thoughts rush into my mind. If C3PO goes to Krakow, he is sure to burned. Even outside of the safety of my home, he would likely be stormed by a mob. They might even call in a legion of Winged Hussars to dispose of the otherwordly demon. Even Luke has a slim chance of making it in Luclawice. His attire is strange, stiff and black and he carries odd devices on his wrist and hip. I know I should let them go, for my own safety. I implicate myself much more for harboring them, I put my congregation at risk. And yet.

_ Matthew 25:35  _ repeats again and again in my head like a mantra. Even if they are otherworldly, they have not tried to harm me. Letting them go to their deaths is not the Christian thing to do.

“Wait!” I cry out as C3PO reaches for my door handle. They turn to look at me.

“Wait,” I say more quietly, “They’ll kill you out there. It’s not safe. There’s room here. Please. Stay with me.”

“ _ Stay  _ with _ you _ ?” C3PO says, after translating for Luke, “We must find our way back to Coruscant. Master Luke has obligations.”

I fold my arms. “I have never heard of Coruscant. I...I’m as confused as you are. But I don’t want you to die out there. They’ve been cracking down on magicians and heretics.”

“Magician?” C3PO gasps in offense, “Master Luke is a Jedi! The very best. He is no magician.”

I sigh, not catching the strange word. It must be local slang, perhaps the name of a cult. “I can’t stop you. But it’s safer in here. Trust me. At least let him put this on instead --” I rummage around in my set of drawers for a set of Faustus’s old clothing, as my own would fall right off of the boy’s waist. Looking away from his handsome face, I stick out the tunic, pants and belt like an offering.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a small smile form on Luke’s face as C3PO translates once more. He says something back in a voice that matches his face, light and young.

C3PO staggers back. 

“Master Luke thanks you, Paweł Blartski. And he -- he says that we will stay. At least for the night.”

“I think that’s a wise choice,” I breathe a sigh of relief, “Where...where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

C3PO is silent for a moment. When he finally speaks again, his voice is chilling. “I do not know for certain but if I had to guess, from the looks of it, we are from a galaxy far, far away.”


	3. A Joining

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.” -- Hebrews 13:2

 

It has been a month since the boy and the golden man fell, and a week since the golden man stopped talking. Were I not present for his long-winded and frequent babbling, I would simply take him for a statue, sitting in the corner of my house. I have covered him with linens and a hat, lest I have company. You see, dear reader, at the back of my house, is my cheesemaking kitchen. I also use this kitchen to sell my wares. There is little privacy in Luclawice, as you have probably gathered. This is only one of the things that bothers Luke about my town.

I told them he was my cousin. The story goes that my aunt and uncle in Krakow have died in a fire and poor Luke needed somewhere to go. At first, he passed off the language gap as shyness and mourning, but lately that doesn’t seem to be a problem.

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” he says to me, in perfect Polish, one morning over a bowl of porridge and butter. If he had not fallen from the sky, I would not have believed that he could learn so quickly. Years after arriving here, Faustus still spoke with a heavy Italian accent, branding himself as a foreigner. Luke’s voice is clear as an angel. But then, nowadays, I would believe almost anything. 

“The Force?” I ask, through a mouthful. The honeyed wheat mush feels excellent on my throat and my house is warm, streaked with sunlight. It bounces off of Luke’s hair like spun gold.

“The Force is the natural energy which flows between all living things,” Luke explains, “I would show you...but you’d probably accuse me of witchcraft again.” He slumps back into his seat, a morose shell of the vibrant boy who had once joked with the golden man in his mother tongue.

“There there,” I pat his shoulder awkwardly, “I’m sure you will learn to fit in here. It’s not much, but living humbly can bring one closer to how Jesus lived.”

“What’s a Jesus?” Luke glances up at me, confused.

My mouth drops, revealing another mouthful of mush, as every muscle in my body tenses. “I...well…the Jesuits would tell you that Jesus Christ is the son of God, and a facet of the Holy Trinity. But I… --” I lower my voice -- “I believe he is simply God’s messenger.”

Luke leans in. “Why are you whispering?”

I glance over to the window, half expecting to see Adam the baker. Instead, a tree rustles in the wind. It is still early for villagers to be walking about. I might as well tell him now.

“The Jesuits would kill me if they found out about the Minor Reformed Church.”

Luke nods. “I understand,” he says, and now it is my turn to look surprised. “I am part of the ancient order of the Jedi. The Galactic Emperor murdered my kind for our beliefs.”

I sigh. “I suppose it’s the same everywhere then.”

“I suppose so,” Luke’s eyes wander to watch the swaying branches and then rest on my own, “Thank you, Paweł, for taking me in and taking such good care of me.”

 

\---

 

Over the next few weeks, I begin to teach Luke my trade. I am famous for my farmer’s cheese, you see, as famous as one can be in this small town. Business is booming, so I figure that I could use an extra set of hands. The villagers love him for his good nature and good looks, and Luke becomes somewhat of a celebrity. As I mentioned before, visitors rarely settle in Luclawice. 

“You’re lucky,” remarks Jakub, the cobbler, “it’s not every day that an angel drops from the sky into one’s cheese shop.”

Luke and I simultaneously blush a deep shade of red, as Jakub selects an herbed satchel. 

“Tell you what,” I put on my most business-like face, “you make Luke a pair of nice shoes and you may have a free farmer’s cheese for the next eight weeks.”

“Has he no shoes?” Jakub glances down at Luke’s bare feet. We stowed his stange black boots beneath my bed but he has complained several times about the pains of not wearing any. This is the least I can do.

I take Jakub by the collar and pull him aside. “His shoes burned in the same fire that killed his parents,” I say in a harsh whisper, “Don’t bring it up, he is still in mourning.”

Jakub turns ghost-white. “Of course.” he says, turning to Luke, “I will measure you for a new pair of shoes tomorrow.”

I smile back at Luke innocently, as Jakub leaves my shop. I can almost swear that I see him blushing once more. Turning away, he leans through the window to wring the excess liquid out of a cheesecloth. His every movement is subtle -- too subtle. I wrap my arms around him over the window, my body pressing flush against his, hands around his as I squeeze. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, his firm bottom warm against my groin. My head begins to get dizzy...and I fall backwards into my shop.

“Force!” Luke exclaims, and then puts a hand over his mouth, “I mean heavens! Are you okay, Paweł?”

It is just then that Adam the baker walks into my shop. Just when I thought this couldn’t get any more embarrassing. I push myself up off of the floor with a great struggle (I am very rotund) and walk over to him. 

Adam smirks. “Paweł,” he greets me, and then looks over to where Luke is still half-leaning out the window. “Luke.”

“Hello Adam,” I grimace, “How can I help you today?”

Adam plucks two of the largest parcels of cheese off of the line. “I have come for our weekly arrangement,” he explains, “but also to deliver news.”

“What news could you possibly have for me?” My eyes narrow. If I was thirty pounds lighter, more muscular, and less clumsy I imagine I might look threatening. As it is, I probably just look like a neutered boar.

Adam leans back against the wall and Luke glances around awkwardly. He must be able to feel the tension.

“I’m sure you don’t care, heretic,” Adam whispers, “but I thought you should know that there is a new Pope elected, Leo XI.”

I bristle with anger. “Why bother telling me, Adam?” In a moment of bravery I advance towards him and stumble slightly over an uneven panel. I stay put a few meters away, “To me,  _ you’re _ the heretic.”

“I’m afraid the Jesuits don’t see it that way,” Adam says, coolly, “Would you like me to contact them and see?”

“You wouldn’t risk losing your free cheese, vermin.”

Adam clicks his tongue. “I simply thought you should know because the new Pope is Italian. And I _ know _ how you like your Italians.”

“Get out of my shop.” My voice rises a pitch, “Right now!”

Adam turns neatly on his heel. “Very well, Paweł.” He smiles mockingly, “As always, a pleasure to do business.”

As soon as he is gone, I sink to the floor. I wipe my sweaty forehead with my sleeve and choke back tears. Luke plops down by my side.

“That was bantha dung,” Luke curses. Although I don’t understand what he means, I can get from his tone that he supports me, “I’m sorry that you have to put up with that sleemo.”

I sigh, gratefully, resting my head on Luke’s shoulder without even meaning to. “He is a worm and a great example of how there’s more to being a man of the Lord than being a Christian.”

“I wish I could use my lightsaber,” Luke slams a fist into the ground, “It makes me so angry to see him get away with treating you like that. But needless violence is not the Jedi way.”

I perk up. “It’s not the Christian way either.”

“Let’s leave early today,” Luke suggests, “We can have that old bottle of krupnik you were telling me about.”

I smile. The boy might as well be a saint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand that it is not a canon Force power to be able to learn language quickly, but if you are legitimately reading a Paul Blart/Luke Skywalker fanfiction set in 17th century Poland and this is your first complaint, you may have bigger problems. Also, a few notes on historical anachronism - floors were not often paneled and houses usually only had one room. Obviously the word "bisexual" was not common vernacular. At this point, tensions between Protestants and Catholics were kind of at a high for Poland but typically protestant services were not led in secret -- namely because nothing is private. 
> 
> I did my thesis on the reformation in Poland-Lithuania so this probably will bother me more than you. I don't know. This is a butchering. Enjoy.


	4. With God On Our Side

“Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war arise against me, yet I will be confident.” -- Psalm 27:3

 

In my kitchen, the bottle of krupnik is hidden away. It’s wrapped conveniently in the linens that cover the golden man. When I remove the apron from his head to retrieve it, Luke frowns.

“We’ll figure out a way to bring your friend back again,” I assure him, although I am skeptical. I am not sure if the golden man was ever alive. Only Jesus ever returned from beyond the mortal world. I am not sure we can bring back C3PO. However, he is not decaying like a man of mortal flesh would, so perhaps there is yet hope. I caress Luke’s shoulder as I fetch a jug of well water to mix with our krupnik.

I made this krupnik in the winter months. It is my great grand mother’s recipe, distilled grain alcohol with honey and spices. She even added lavender to it. It is as medicinal as it is intoxicating. I should mention that I don’t drink often. I am incredibly quick to succumb to the liquor's tempting grasp. I wouldn’t want to waste my life in such sad pursuits. However, once in a while doesn’t hurt. 

I pour each of us a flaggard of the mixture and stir it around with my fat, sausage-like finger. Luke takes a sip and makes a face, that softens as the sweetness of the honey hits his palette.

“This is nice,” he tells me, “Better than anything I ever tried on Tatooine.”

As I have learned, Tatooine was Luke’s home. He has told me little else about this place or his mysterious past. Or what he was doing dropping out the sky, for that matter. I felt that it would be rude to ask.

“What kinds of liquor does Tatooine have?”

Luke makes that same wrinkled face again. “Nothing good.”

“Well,” I smile warmly, “Have as much as you want.”

I take a deep sip and feel my cheeks warming already. Luke is beautiful and great company to keep. I hope that this cheers him up a bit.

“So,” I start, trying to make myself as good company as he is, “Tell me more about the Order of the Jedi and the Force.”

Luke’s eyes glaze and his lips curl into a distant smile. “Jedi believe in using the Force for good. Not giving in to hate. Not letting oneself attach to the world around us. What matters is the ability to be rational and kind -- unselfish.”

That resonates with me instantly as I think about everything I learn and teach -- about the ways of Jesus Christ. 

“The opposite of the Jedi is the Sith,” Luke continues, “The Sith Lord uses his hatred, his anger, to gain power. He becomes evil and wild and eventually, it consumes him.”

“Ah,” I nod, “The “Sith” as you called it...we call that Satan.”

Luke tilts his head. “What is Satan?”

“Satan is the dark energy of evil. Sometimes it manifests as a devil. When they talk about witchcraft, what they mean is people who are becoming vessels of Satan.”

“We call that the Dark side of the Force,” Luke explains, “Sith are just the people -- and xenos -- who harness it.”

“Oh,” I am now sufficiently tipsy, enjoying the conversation, as I learn more and more about this handsome boy and his strange culture, “That’s what we’d call a Witch, or sometimes a Satanist.”

“Mmm, makes sense,” Luke mumbles, grinning. I can tell he is also rapidly becoming intoxicated, “I’m glad you’re a Christian. It seems like we Jedi line up better with that.”

He brushes his hand against mine as he says it, making me blush a deep red. I let my fingers caress his arms, before I hit the roll of his sleeve.

“I just,” Luke’s eyes are lidded, “I want to tell you something.”

I lean in. “Anything.”

Luke looks down. “I’m trans.”

I take another sip. “I’m afraid I don’t understand that word. Perhaps you could explain?”

Luke bites his lip. “I was assigned female at birth. I just --”

I put a finger to his lips. “I don’t understand, but also I don’t care. Nothing could change the way I feel. You’re stunning and we’re drunk and I just want to kiss your handsome face. Is that okay with you?”

Luke leans in in a sudden flurry of eyelashes and lips press against lips -- soft, warm lips. I hiccup when we break apart, and Luke grins brightly.

“You’re so great, Paweł. I really like you.”

I return his smile, “I...like you too. I’d like to kiss more when we are more sober.”

Then, I watch Luke’s expression freeze, as his eyes fix on the window behind my head. I whip my head around and draw in a gasp. Adam the Baker stands beside the window, eyes wide.

“I...can explain,” I stutter, drunkenly, “Luke isn’t really my cousin...he’s…” I trail off. Adam isn’t reacting. Instead, he is staring directly at C3PO, having been disrobed of his linens and hat in my struggle to get the krupnik. He stands gallantly in all of his golden glory. Adam’s expression shifts from surprise to anger.

“I...Idolatry!” He shouts, “Devil worship!”

The words slosh around in my intoxicated mind. “No,” I plead with him, “C3PO is not an idol, he’s just --” A golden man who fell from the sky? I can’t support my case with that evidence. Instead I fall silent.

Adam’s sallow skin crinkles and his moustache quivers. “This is it, Paweł,” he seethes, “My free cheese is not worth having an idol-worshipper in Luclawice. First Socinus and now this. I will leave for Krakow at once. The Jesuits must be alerted immediately.”

With that he turns on his heel and fades into the blackness. I turn to Luke, eyes wide and mind racing. If Adam alerts the Jesuits, none of us will be safe. Luke and I will be destroyed and the Minor Reformed church along with us. As for C3PO, he will be taken back to Rome and examined, perhaps deconstructed and melted down for his gold value alone. 

“Only by God’s mercy will we survive this,” I say between tears, “We must flee Luclawice.”

“No,” Luke strokes my cheek gently, “We will stand our ground and fight.”

I reach up and grab his hand, pulling it down and away. “No, Luke, you don’t understand. They could send a legion of cavalry. They could send soldiers. Worse yet, they might mob us. If we don’t flee, we will both die.”

Luke shakes his head. “Trust me, Paweł. Promise to trust me one last time.”

I wipe one large tear from my cheek. “What do you intend to do?”

“We will stand our ground,” Luke insists, “I have a secret weapon. The Force -- God -- will be on our side. I promise.”


	5. Sinister Forces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached a new low, boys.

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” -- Philippians 4:13   
  


I had never seen a hussar in person until that day. Of course, I had heard stories. I had even known a few who had seen them, the elite Polish cavalry force -- famous from far beyond the Baltic sea to the rocky cliffs of far away Britannia. In their golden winged helmets, they shone likes pieces of stardust -- so it was said. So I now discover, as three noble white stallions carrying muscular riders approach my doorstep. Under any other circumstance, my breath would catch in respect. This time, it catches in fear.

The whole town of Luclawice stands by the road to watch, as though it is some sick parade. My congregation, small but loyal, stands by my side. Craftsmen and farm laborers surround me, muttering words of support and faith. With a firm hand wrapped around my shoulder, Luke watches the parade of officials draw nearer. In his other hand he grips what appears to be the hilt of a sword - gleaming metallic in the sun. 

“Don’t worry,” Luke whispers to me, “Keep your faith.”

I try to nod, but when I do, I splutter and tears begin to roll down my face. I can feel my moustache dampening and I get weak in the knees, my heart speeding up as my heavy body rocks back and forth. A young farmer’s daughter fetches me my chair from the kitchen and sits me down. I dab my forehead with my sleeve.

Noting my fear, Luke moves to stand protectively in front of me. Behind me, C3PO shines as golden as the helmets of the riders, only a thin line of him exposed, as the rest is wrapped up like a secret. The intruders are now within speaking distance, followed closely by five Jesuit enforcers. As the cavalry parts to make room, the head Jesuit steps forward and I force myself to sit up a little taller in my chair.

“Paweł Blartski, cheese merchant.”

I nod shakily. “Yes, my lord.”

He scowls down at me. His skin is unblemished by sun and work, his face symmetrical. I must look so easy to squish, like an insect who has stepped out of line.

“You are being charged with idol worship and heresy. We are going to examine the evidence. Kindly move out of the way.”

Meekly, I scoot my chair to the right to let the Jesuits through. They begin to tear my house apart from the inside out, smashing bottles of milk and sacks of rennet, throwing books on the ground, ripping pages from my journals. I hear a gasp, as they discover an old volume of Faustus’s. Adam’s eye glints menacingly down at me from the crowd. I wonder all that he has told them, but I force the thought out of my mind. Instead, I watch in open-mouthed horror as the Jesuits destroy every facet of order in my small, sad life. 

One Jesuit, I assume a right-hand man of the leader, pulls the apron and linens from C3PO and lets out a gasp. He calls for his superior.

“Lord above,” the head Jesuit draws in a breath at the golden man’s majesty before he jeers at me, “That is an impressive idol, Blartski. Where did you find it?”

I shake my head, as Luke breathes deeply beside me, willing down his anger and fear. I follow his example and do the same.

“I said where. did. you. find. it? I know you could not afford the gold, I see your humble abode.” The Jesuit is raising his voice at me now, each word dripping with intent. He jabs a finger into my meaty chest as he grabs my hair back. I let out a painful exhale and deflate, hanging my head before him.

“...fell...out of the sky,” I manage.

The intruder’s lips curl as he forcibly tilts my face up to look him in the eye, fingers still closed in an iron grip around my sweaty locks. I can hear my own pathetic panting.

“Fell out of the sky?” he repeats, disbelieving, “And my daughter is the Pope!”

“Let him go,” I hear Luke’s voice trembling with anger by my shoulder, “That’s my friend. They are both...my friends.”

“And who is this?” The Jesuit releases his hold on me and turns to Luke, squaring up his shoulders.

“I am Luke Skywalker,” Luke is so bold and brave in his deliverance that my heart feels even weaker than before he began, “I am a Jedi and I demand that you do not hurt him.”

The Jesuit turns a shade redder and hollers at his goons, “TIE THEM UP! THEY WILL BE BURNED AT THE STAKE!”

At that moment, a few amazing things happen. My blood, as if intoxicated by some kind of liquid courage, pumps loudly in my ears as I manage to stand up, pushing the head Jesuit back from Luke. I see out the corner of my eye, Luke positioning himself in a combat stance, hands open flat, pushed forwards as if moving an invisible wall. The sword hilt hangs beside his hip in its holster and his face scrunches up in concentration. 

The hussars standing in front of my doorstep, along with their stallions, careen back as though God himself shoved them. The force is so strong, so sudden, that each hussar loses his balance individually. The congregation cheers loudly, as the villagers of Luclawice let out a simultaneous gasp. 

“How…” The second-in-command Jesuit and I utter simultaneously. The head Jesuit, however, has gone pale as a ghost.

“Witchcraft!” I hear Adam blurt out from the crowd, “They must be burned! See! Now there is proof of their treachery!”

“No,” the head Jesuit mumbles, stepping back from the doorway, “This is far more sinister. The prophecy has come true.”  
I look to Luke in horror. “Do you understand what he’s saying?”

“No,” Luke looks away, “But I have been foretold of a prophecy long ago. The Chosen One, said to bring the Forces of Light and Dark together. It was me -- but that is long over now, in a galaxy far, far away. This priest speaks in riddles.”

“What in the name of…” I bite my lip to keep from saying the Lord’s name in vain as my eyes trace the head Jesuit. He is pulling his sleeve up to reveal a black metal bracelet much like Luke himself wore when he arrived here, so many months ago. He presses a button on the device and a faint portrait in blue wavy lines appears there. I do not recognize the man who is portrayed there. 

It is unlike any portrait I have seen. The translucent blue man stands about the size of a fist, directly on top of the wrist of the Jesuit, where the bracelet meets his skin. Most strangely of all, he is moving, ever so slightly back and forth. I shudder as the Jesuit speaks again, a dark tone to his voice indicating danger. 

“It is time...to execute Order 77.”


	6. Good & Evil

“Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” -- James 4:7

 

The town of Luclawice is in chaos. Our own legendary cavalry force has bolted in fear, the witchcraft on the Jesuit leader’s wrist spooking their horses. Cries of children and adults alike resound through the streets. Nobody can agree on what the meaning of this occurrence is, but Luclawice is operating behind closed doors. Men stand guard with pointed sticks and firewood axes, protecting their families. 

In my own small home, Luke guards the door protectively.

“I feel like it’s my fault,” he says, “If I had never touched that holocron, Luclawice would still be...normal.”

I shudder. “You’re right, it would be normal. But it wouldn’t be half as sweet.”

These days, our eyes are heavy and our hearts even moreso. It’s hard to find that old spark. At least, Adam hasn’t been back. The whole town has been calling him devil-bringer, since he was the one who brought upon us this chaos. I wish I could feel vindicated. Instead, I just feel empty.

 

Three days into this hell, just as people are starting to come out from the haze of fear, I awaken at dawn to a darkened sky. I shake Luke out of his slumber beside me, and his eyes open, the fear within them palpable. 

“I sense something wrong within the Force,” Luke whispers as he jumps out of his bed and into his clothes.

“Wait…” I start, but it is too late. Luke has already made for the door. I lumber behind him, mouth agape when I reach it, my view of the outside world - an apocalyptic hell - unobstructed. 

There is a giant vessel, something like a sailing ship without a sail, made of a sleek dark metal sitting in the town square. The vessel is bigger than three houses and as imposing as a ferocious beast. I cross myself and pray as I watch Luke walk towards it, alone, his eyes flashing with recognition. Glancing from side to side, I can see other villagers watching as well.

As suddenly as the vessel landed, it opens. A ramp extends through a huge door on the side of it and ever-so-slowly a figure walks to greet Luke. The man’s outfit is all red with white trim, a red cap on his head and a thick white beard sprouting like a mare’s tail from his face. I recognize him as the one who stood on the Jesuit’s wrist. My first thought is that he must be the devil. My second thought is even more sinister.

He speaks to Luke, a foreign tongue. The same tongue I heard Luke speaking to C3PO. Could it be that this man is from Luke’s galaxy?

Luke, however, responds in Polish. “You come to these people’s town to start trouble,” he jabs his finger towards the man, an accusation, “You will at least address me in their mother tongue.”

“Very well,” the red-clad man agrees, his Polish accented heavily. I instantly recognize the accent as dread creeps through me. This man is Italian. Just like Faustus. My whitening knuckles grab for the doorway, steadying myself, as I watch.

“It’s been a long time,” continues the stranger, “and I’ve waited so long for you...my apprentice.”

Luke looks unshaken. “I don’t know you.”

“Ah,” says the stranger, a dark chuckle brewing in his throat, “It is I...Darth Leo the Pious.”

Luke visibly whitens, drawing the broken hilt of that strange blade, shiny chrome as foreign as the stranger’s ship. It feels as though I am watching a dark vision play out in front of my very eyes.

“You’re a Sith!” Luke’s voice raises, an angered whine, “What are you doing here?”

Darth Leo’s chuckle cracks into full-blown maniacal laughter, as he reaches into his red robe, brandishing a sword hilt similar to Luke’s. “Don’t be so hasty,  _ Jedi.  _ You could become so powerful at my side, so great. I set the holocron in that ancient temple, and as the prophecy predicted, it brought me as apprentice. Together, we will extend the Galactic Empire beyond space and time. We will bring it….to Earth. With the power of the Catholic Church and the Ancient Order of the Sith!”

“Noo!” I cry out as I run towards him, a moment of bravery carrying my body faster than my brain can think. I feel myself being lifted, levitated by this witch’s magick, off of the ground as invisible fingers close around my throat. Spluttering, I try to pry them from my neck as Darth Leo cackles madly on.

“Who’s this?” he asks mockingly, “From your expression, I see you have made...friends with him? Perhaps the threat of his demise might convince you of the true path - the full potential of the Force!”

Luke charges forward, and I cannot tell if it is the loss of air causing me delirium or if I am truly seeing it, but a glowing green blade sprouts from the hilt of Luke’s sword. Darth Leo dodges his swing, letting me crumple to the ground. I heave and gasp, as I regain my full thought process. crawling pathetically back towards my door. 

“I don’t negotiate with Sith!” Luke yells, swinging again, his saber colliding with the blade that sprouts from Leo’s hilt, as red as goat’s blood and just as much of an omen. It makes a sizzle, as the Sith parries. 

“Please, Luke,” I cry out, my voice thick with tears, “It’s not worth it.”

I’m so focused on the practiced swordplay between Luke and Darth Leo that I barely notice the shadowy figure stepping into the foreground. In fact, I don’t bat an eye until I hear his whimpering and it sounds...familiar.

“Pope Leo?” Adam addresses the man directly, his eyes wet with tears, “Why would you do this? I put all of my faith in the Church. I believed every word. I paid my Peter’s pence every service. I gave my life to the church’s teachings. And now….I find out….you’re a witch! The Pope is a witch!”

My breath catches. I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out myself. This man, this Sith...is the Pope. It’s almost laughable, how absurd the scenario is. Or it would be, if the Pope wasn’t shoving Luke into the ground, as if harnessing the very air to do so. Seemingly amused, he turns to face Adam.

“Not a witch,” he hisses, “A Sith! And that should be all the more terrifying!”

Adam tearfully raises his hands to the heavens. “I trusted you! I believed in you!”

“Adam!” Luke warns, shaking off the air bindings and charging towards Darth Leo, “Get out of the way or you’ll be hurt!”

It’s like Adam can’t hear him. “You’ve put on a curse on our town!” he shouts at the Pope, “You’ve cursed and tricked my family! I don’t know what I am anymore! I am worse than a witch, I deserve --”

“To be sacrificed?” Leo interrupts him, a sadistic smile spreading across his lips, “Yes, boy, I’ve read my scripture enough to pose as the Pope. Just think of yourself as Isaac because now you are going to perish to fuel my power! You’ll soon find out why they call me the Lightning Pope!”

I let out a silent sob as I watch blue lights erupt from his fingertips and towards Adam, who falls over on the ground screaming and writhing. Luke positions his hands flat out towards the Pope, summoning a gust of air to knock him off of balance, interrupting his spell.

Luke’s voice is steady when he speaks. “Do not attack him, Darth. The true fight is between us. Good and evil. Jedi and Sith.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Leo straightens, “When I break you down, you will have no choice but to become my apprentice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked my plot twist -- having the Pope be a Sith. Catch me at Confession for that one. Also, to us True Church History Buffs, it should have been obvious since Pope Leo XI was in fact nicknamed the Lightning Pope, albeit for his quick papal service - only 27 days. I am trying to keep everything in line with utmost historical accuracy here. Hope you are enjoying it so far, please let me know in the comments.


	7. Going Home

“No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us.” -- John 4:12  


We didn’t see it, because we were too focused on the energy - the sheer magick -- in front of our eyes. A stone fired from a simple sling from the middle of the crowd. It was a small boy that fired the shot. Dear reader, I wish I could tell you that it hit Darth Leo square in the forehead, knocked him clear to the ground. Fate, it seems, is crueler than to allow that.

The stone, barely more than a pebble, stops in mid air before Leo raises his hand and releases it, careening towards the child who so bravely stood up for his fellow man. The child, lacking the witchcraft of the Sith Lord, has no time to dodge before it smacks his jaw, and as if it was a pointed knife, continues clear through his throat. Blood spurts grotesque across the cobbled streets.

You may think, dear reader, that such a sudden and horrific tragedy would dismay the people of Luclawice, that we would lose our wills and our guts. That is what Darth Leo was hoping for. Perhaps, the Sith of Luke’s galaxy are made of a weaker stock. I am proud to inform you that the sudden slaying of that boy instead prompts the entire town to mob the Lightning Pope.

You see, it is instantly clear to everyone, even those most devout, that this man is a fraud. There is a divine error. For first and foremost, we are Poles and we help our own. He is more powerful than any one of us, certainly, but together we find hope. Through the bodies, we fight and struggle. With a phoenix's spirit, we rise again and again. It is Luke, however, who issues the final blow- his glowing sword screaming HOLY HOLY HOLY as it slices clear through the Pope’s arm.

To our collective surprise, we see him laugh.

“You Jedi are all the same,” Leo murmurs, his sinister smile growing, “You never go for the heart.”

“With all due respect, Lightning Pope,” Luke’s face is stern and serious. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, “I can’t aim for something that doesn’t exist.”

In that moment, I admire Luke’s quick thinking, as well as his swordsmanship. A quote like that is the sort of thing that Jesuits pass down. In a thousand years, it probably will still be remembered. I think of Luke warmly, through my sweat, tears, and blood.

“This galaxy doesn’t have mechnoarms,” Luke continues, “You will die of infection. This is your chance to reform yourself. Let me help you. Join the Light.”

The pleading tone in Luke’s voice is dripping with good, and I swell with pride that he is mine and I am his.

“Oh, young Luke,” Leo clicks his tongue mockingly, “You are so arrogant and unwise. The Force still flows heavily through me. I feel it’s tides rising.”

His other hand swings, open palmed and Luke is greeted with a burst of excruciating lightning.

“Please,” I beg, wanting to find courage again but unable to, as all I can focus on is the face of my one true love, grimacing in pain, “Please, Darth Leo, stop hurting him!”

From behind Leo, a shadow of a man is pulling himself forward by his arms, moving serpentine and silent.

“Look out!” shouts a voice from the crowd, but it’s too late. Adam, still bent and broken from his own lightning treatment is now directly behind Luke. From the front, all I can see is the knife pulled from the Pope’s back as his hand falls limp and the lightning ceases.

That is when I hear the sobs of villagers, in singed piles with their family surrounding them and I realize just how many people have been hurt. People who I’ve loved, people who I’ve known my entire life. It is no time for celebration.

The town of Luclawice is in mourning.

 

***

 

“What now?” says Jakub, the cobbler, tears streaming clear lines through the grime and blood that is caked on his face, “How will we ever recover? We have lost so much.”

At the small cemetery up the hill, we are burying our dead. I have never heard so many sobbing women, children screaming. They are too young, I think, too young to be confronted by these tragic realities.

An old man pats Jakub softly on the shoulder. “Come child,” he says softly, “Poland was never touched by the fingers of the plague like so many others. From the ashes of burned bodies and the stench of illness, other nations have risen. We will do the same.”

“How will we ever make our peace?” cries Sarah, the butcher’s wife, as her husband’s body is lowered softly into a grave, “How will our dead ever meet God and go to heaven?”

I chew on my finger nervously. “Perhaps it would help to come to one of my meetings,” I suggest, “The Antitrinitarian Church holds all of our services in the language of our people. It’s how we feel the connection burn so strongly. I truly don’t feel like that connection is lost, simply because of this evil Sith Pope.”

Poland has always found a way. Poland has always recovered. Perhaps all we need was a reformation of our own.

 

When I return to my modest hut, I find that Luke has raided the Pope’s ship for an energy converter to wake up his golden friend. He and C3PO are chatting in hushed voices. They both turn as I walk in.

“Ah! Master Blartski. I am so pleased to see you,” the golden man greets me.

I shrug off my overcoat and sit down in silence.

“Threepio,” Luke says softly, his voice as sweet as whiny honey, “Will you give Paweł and I some space?”

The shiny man nods curtly in his odd mechanical way and marches outside where the streets are uncharacteristically silent and the air is cool.

I turn to Luke, tired and sad, leaning my head gently on my love’s shoulder. He smells like metal and grease, a comforting aroma that has become my home.

“So that’s it then,” I say, “You have a ship now and I suppose you’re going home. I can’t blame you after all.”

I really can’t blame him. In the past few days I have realized like Luclawice is my fight. It is my family. It is my home. And yet, nothing makes me feel so calm as Luke’s soft hair, his warm skin.

Luke sighs deeply. “I couldn’t go back now, Paweł”

I look up at him, taken aback. “Why not?” I ask, “Do you not have people who are counting on you?”

Luke gets up, tucking in his chair and falls to one knee in front of me. My eyes blur over and I feel my head getting dizzy, my heart racing.

“The galaxy will move on,” says Luke, “but my love for you is forever. Will you, Paweł Blartski, marry me and be my husband?”

“Y-yes!” I squeal, “But the church --”

“Ssh,” Luke puts his finger to my lips, “The church is changing. We are heroes now, who will go down in the history books. And this, my love, is our future.”


	8. Epilogue

It isn’t every day that a boy and a golden man fall headlong out of the sky into your sleepy village. It isn’t every day that the religious leaders your friends once trusted turn out to be murderous aliens who possess the power to shoot lightning from their fingers. It isn’t every day, dear reader, that you find the man who you wish to spend the rest of your life with. A man who will sacrifice everything to stay by your side.

The Battle of Luclawice prompted a change. Instead of people losing faith in God, they began to reform their faith. They became more active within the community. My church, the Antitrinitarian fellowship, set up a bishopric in the old Catholic church. Word spreads quickly in Poland, dear reader. Nobody was ready to trust the new Pope within the first few years.

As time went on, the Antitrinitarians were joined by other branches of divine worship. Poland-Lithuania once again accepted diversity. We had Jews and Catholics, Saracens and Lutherans. All within the same bountiful community, with Luclawice in the center. Our town became a pilgrimage spot, recognized by the  _ Sejm _ . 

As for Luke and I, we were married in the spring, surrounded by green fields of wheat and purple lavender blossoms. As the weather grew cold, we kept each other warm, kneading curds of farmer’s cheese around the fire. 

This is the story of the Polish Reformation but is also the story of love. Of new beginnings. Of tragic endings. And of hope - hope that someday the entire world will sit together around a bountiful table where our differences are just stitches in a tapestry that makes up what matters: human beings, God, and the faith that things will get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Oh what a joy it's been to write something that is the perfect blend of my interests and quite possibly nobody else's interests. Hope you enjoyed it, please feel free to comment and contact me on Tumblr, where I also go by Kierkegarden.


End file.
